Joy in the Shadow of Despair

Finding comfort in the spectrum of experience

I have thoughts about this topic, but more than anything, I'd like to open up a conversation. I'd love to know what tactics others use to get through these rough days.

Barrage of Horrors. Illustration by Jon Huff.

How dare you?

When I see people post things like "How can you [enjoyable activity] when [terrible thing happening somewhere else]?" it gives me pause. Similarly, the question "How can you spend your time [making/doing creative thing] when [horrible thing happening in the world]?" is something I take seriously.

I understand the impulse behind these questions. In a world where, increasingly, consequences seem reserved for the many while a privileged few seemingly bounce through life, it can be hard to see joy or creativity amid darkness and chaos and not be suspect. Especially when there are people who seem forever untouched. There are people who can afford to look away and live in their cocooned world. But these sorts of people are exceedingly rare. It's a mistake to think of someone's "online life" as their real life. On this side of the screen, we don't know their private pain, quiet advocacies, or the complex web of relationships they're caught in.

That's why I think these questions, perhaps well-intentioned, become poisonous. Even when it feels good to judge others about what they are or are not doing, this comes from a place of ignorance and is ultimately counterproductive. It's thinking we need to get past it because it's not fixing anything and is just spreading around more suffering.

A barrage of horrors

Once your eyes are opened to suffering, it's hard to close them. Assuming you've not deadened yourself to it completely. More on that in a bit. One of the side-effects of our new age of connectedness, thanks to the internet and twenty-four-hour news cycles, is that pain and suffering are thrust into our eyeballs and ear holes on a continual basis. I'm not convinced the human mind is set up to deal with this.

The responses to this barrage can range from people losing their minds with worry to losing their hearts, deadening their empathy for others to nothing. Or, in the most hideous of fates, fear curdles into hatred. While I think which pole people move toward is based on a combination of factors, including their own internalized tendencies, I think our connectedness to a complex world of never-ending horrors is part of why the world seems more coarse and apathetic. Especially when the horrors (as opposed to all the brilliant, wonderful things happening or that people are doing) are what's focused on because they get the most views or likes. We are all now digital rubberneckers and lookie-loos, freed from shame by electric anonymity.

Apathy and hatred are a means of protection for some people. Especially when our society moves away from nuance to things that give us that "purer" rush of serotonin. The thrill of the righteous post. The delight of a like. The bliss of a share. These traps are not just for one particular political party or ideological bent. They have ensnared us all.

How NOT to do it

I'm not going to pretend I have this figured out. I know I utterly failed from November 2016 to November 2020. I was too engaged and plugged in. I woke up every day with a low-level fear of what new thing I might read. What "right" might be taken away from myself or those I love? My hair was dark brown in 2016 and developed a lot of salt in the pepper during those four years. The stress worked its way into every corner of my existence, compounded by being fired for the first time in my working life. I would not wish the experience of living through that on anyone. And yet, I'm incredibly grateful for it. Because, this time, I feel a little better prepared.

Thoughts, so far, on how to get through this

Here are the things I plan to do to keep my sanity. Because this time, I feel more prepared. I learned a little bit from my experience during those four years. So this is a start, but again, I'd love to hear other people's thoughts.

1. Disengage from social media, not social injustice. This was going to be a lot easier with me leaving Twitter, but now I'm posting a lot more on Bluesky and enjoying it. But I liberally use the mute button if someone I follow is spamming my feed with too much pain and suffering. I think people should post what they need to. I certainly would. But I also don't think we need to feel bad about taking a break now and again. Maybe you're just not ready for the horrors on a particular day. Muting or just completely logging off is good for you.
   Disengaging from the barrage of horrors doesn't mean you care less or are a terrible person. I'd say you can make a difference (a more impactful one) by donating your time, donating your money, or just being there for a friend or someone in your community. The only danger area here, really, is giving into complete cynicism. Don't bury your head in the sand or stop trying to make a difference in little, local ways because "nothing helps." Even if we can't change the world, we can change someone's night. A single moment of help—of kindness—can make a big difference when the world feels particularly cold.

2. Revel in joy. This is sometimes the hardest thing for me. It can feel weird shouting about your accomplishments or the things that bring you joy when terrible things are happening. Certainly, there are times for restraint. But, generally, the truth is the world is full of terrible things happening all the time. And you and I deserve to celebrate when life is good. Life will not stay this way. It cannot, and it does not. Your "turn" on the "wrong" side of the wheel will inevitably come. This might be disturbing at first, but remember, it also means the opposite. If you're going through a terrible time again, life will not stay this way. Your "turn" on the "right" side of the wheel will come too.
   For me, I feel like I'm collecting joy for a rainy day. I try to appreciate all the times when life feels particularly great, or I've done something I'm proud of. In the hopes that these memories will serve as a bulwark against darker days.

3. Create. There is value—I'd even say the necessity—in keeping joy and creativity near when things are dark and uncertain. It's like the value of unseriousness in the face of a serious threat. Not just because art can communicate things more effectively than words but because the act of making something can help. I wrote In the Dark of the Grove partly as a response to my experiences and disillusionment during the first Trump administration. I was able to get a lot out in the context of that horror book, although I know many readers will not even see that in the text. Really, all of that was just for me. If a reader somehow gleans that from the book and gets an extra layer beyond the story, then it is even better.

4. Be more understanding. When others don't react the way you wish they would, or perhaps even the way you think, they should consider whether you really know all of their heart, mind, and actions from the small window of what they're showing you. There is this odd tendency for people to conflate understanding with capitulating in some way. Understanding someone does not mean agreeing with them. It does not mean liking them or their actions. It doesn't mean you think what they're doing is acceptable. To me, understanding is the first step in adjusting something within yourself. It helps me formulate the proper response. Depending on what it is, that might be trying to change their mind, saying nothing, remembering there are certain topics not to be discussed with said person, or dropping that person from my life completely. But at least I'm basing these decisions on more than a knee-jerk response.
   Understanding, to me, is really just akin to investigating. It's digging a little deeper into why someone else might say or do the things they do and to better understand my own response and what—in the end—I will get out of it. If anything.

5. Learn to appreciate the salty mixed with the sweet. One of the hardest things about growing up is losing a sense of pureness of emotion. That feeling of undiluted happiness, anger, or sadness. Even when it was something that made me feel bad, there was a certain comfort and pleasure in its simplicity: I am happy because I got to watch He-man and the Masters of the Universe this morning. I am sad because our family dog died. That sort of thing.
   But as I get older, everything becomes messy: I am happy my mom got me a Gameboy, but I'm worried because I know she probably stretched herself thin, as a single mother of three, to get it. I'm angry that this kid pushed me down and started hitting me with a backpack, but I'm scared of what I'll do if I start to fight back.
   As a child who didn't particularly like when my peas got into my mashed potatoes (unless I wanted them to!), this new wrinkle in my emotions was distressing to me. I liked the clear lines between this and that because one of the things I hated was uncertainty.
   It's remarkable to think back on that because now, as an adult, I live for the grays. I live for the in-betweens. Not just in life, but in art as well. I can look back and see how much of an illusion that sense of "purity" was. How much of that was simply blissful ignorance? And how much of it was dictated to me by example and correction? Now, when I have a taste of those moments of joy that approach that old "purity," I'm so much more thankful for them because I know how rare and precious they are. And when those complex emotions come along, I can appreciate them more, too. Because, as complicated as they can be, they're real, they're my own, and are markers of the life I've lived.

Anything else you'd add? A point you disagree with? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

One final note. A song I have loved for a very long time. And, perhaps, something to consider along with this topic: